


Insusceptible

by the_moonmoth



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-20
Updated: 2010-01-20
Packaged: 2017-10-12 16:57:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/127046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_moonmoth/pseuds/the_moonmoth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the prompt <i>McCoy/Kirk. Mission gone wrong, cranky McCoy, nonchalant Jim. Oh and making out!</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Insusceptible

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dvs](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dvs/gifts).



Jim first noticed it on Earth, the morning after the award ceremony that had culminated in his promotion to captain. Bones had come by just before lunchtime to make sure he hadn't died of alcohol poisoning in his sleep. Jim had, in fact, been up and about for half an hour and had just got out of the shower – thinking back, it really should have been then, standing with a towel around his waist and nothing else. But it wasn't. It was a few minutes later, reappearing from the bathroom in his black uniform pants and undershirt, pulling his new gold command shirt over his head.

Bones had looked at him with an odd, stuttering expression that Jim had found strangely difficult to look away from. The silence stretched just a little too long.

"Looks good on you," Bones had said after a handful of painful seconds, and Jim brushed it off with something flippant and they went to get some food.

*

He saw it again a couple months later in the Enterprise's gym. He was sparring with a couple of the security guys, starting to work up a good sweat, and at some point he clocked Bones entering, heading for his customary station at the punch bag. But it wasn't until half an hour or so later, as he finished up his workout on the treadmill, that he felt McCoy's eyes on him.

Glancing up at the mirror, Jim saw Bones punching the bag rhythmically, strong arms shining with exertion, hair flopping onto his forehead, dark eyes shining at him from across the room. And as he watched Bones watching him, Jim caught the same strange expression on his face as the time before. It would have brought him up short, if it weren't for the treadmill.

*

Because once was a fluke, but twice was a pattern, and while he may have once entertained the notion of bedding McCoy, the good doctor had been persistently insusceptible to both Jim's charm and his bullshit. After all that time, it was so unexpected he couldn't quite trust his own conclusions.

So he stood too close and touched more than was necessary, and honestly started to think he was going mad because it got _no reaction_ whatsoever. Which was crap, because he'd started to notice the way McCoy handled his body whenever he was in sickbay, familiar; because the little curve at the corner of his mouth that differentiated between true pissed-of-ness and reluctant amusement had started making his stomach twist. Because after all that time, maybe he kind of really wanted there to be.

*

When Jim woke up, it was to the quiet sound of intense activity recently concluded. Nothing hurt, which was a minor miracle, but then he couldn't feel his body either, so he figured it made sense. A soft snore drew his attention – down by his hip a blue figure sat in a chair half sprawled on the edge of the biobed, dark head cradled in the crook of one elbow.

"Hey Bones," Jim said, his voice oddly rasping.

McCoy drew in a sharp breath and sat up, rubbing a hand down his face. "You're awake," he said. He scowled. "You dumb shit."

"Huh," Jim croaked. "That's what Spock said, too."

McCoy crossed his arms over his chest. "Is that so."

"Actually, it was more like 'your actions were extremely reckless, Captain,' but it was all in the eyebrow." He attempted a smile. His face didn't seem to want to co-operate. "Ow," he said.

Bones sighed, rolled his eyes. "Your face is still pretty swollen from the beating you took, not to mention two recently re-knit ribs and all manner of muscle tears, so try not to move too much." Bones stopped, stared at him, said, "You had a fractured skull, Jim," and there was the familiar derision of Jim's idiocy in his tone, yes, but also something that sounded like pleading, something that sounded like hurting.

Jim swallowed. "Should've seen the other guy," he said weakly.

Something seemed to fall away from McCoy's face then, something hard and familiar, and his expression was as open as Jim had ever seen it. "Don't," he said. Jim reflected that head injuries were never not serious, especially the kind where your head is actually broken. He wondered how long he'd been out for.

"Bones," he said. 'I'm sorry' floated on the tip of his tongue, but ultimately he wasn't, and Bones had always been insusceptible to Jim's bullshit.

"Yeah," McCoy said anyway, eyes scanning over Jim's face. "I know." Then he got up and leaned down and whispered, "but at least you're going to come back to _me_ ," and kissed him.

It wasn't quite gentle enough not to hurt, his abused mouth throbbing a little at the contact, but then Bones probably wanted it that way and Jim wasn't about to tell him to stop. Bones's breath came warm and a little unsteady on his face, one hand curling around Jim's neck, broad and possessive. Jim reached up and bunched one hand in the front of Bones's uniform shirt, holding him in place when he eventually tried to pull away.

"I thought you didn't want-" he started. Bones cut him off with a derisive snort. "I mean, you didn't react when I..." he trailed off, suddenly unsure.

"Jim," Bones said, "you _always_ stand too close."

"Oh," Jim said "huh," and pulled him back down again.


End file.
